


Encounter II

by VsaFic



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Also there is fluff at the end, Blow Jobs, DON'T BE FOOLED, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, It's surprisingly vanilla, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Sex, Vanilla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 18:04:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13529694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VsaFic/pseuds/VsaFic
Summary: Teemo/Tristana porn without plot. After an incident in boot camp, the two meet years later, and make up for lost time.There's not enough yordle smut in general. Here's my contribution, made to win a bet.





	Encounter II

**Author's Note:**

> Brace yourself. This work is fifteen pages long, prepare for a long one and enjoy the ride. I wrote it very thoroughly. 
> 
> There's nearly nothing of this ship, which I think is weird, since they were like, one step away from being canon. But well. Here's my smutty, smutty contribution to it. 
> 
> As is said in the summary, this was written to win a bet. The bet was to rewrite a disastrous sex scene from a multichapter fanfic starring these two. I won't show the original work for respect to its author (and also because it is in spanish). There were a few rules here and there, but there was also a lot of creative freedom that I exploited thoroughly.
> 
> Enjoy this pornographic behemoth.
> 
> FIFTEEN PAGES.

He wasn't really sure of why they always ended up in these situations. 

It wasn't the first time either, he reminded himself as he climbed the stairs to her bedroom. It was as much of an enigma as the reason why life always seemed to bring them back together, make them revel on each other, and cruelly split them again. This had to be around the third time they'd encountered each other, and Teemo noticed that with every encounter they seemed to bond closer and closer. As if destiny wanted to torture him and the heartless façade he tried to achieve by putting a female on his way just to soften him up.

Tristana sat on the bed and stared down at the floor, not acting suggestively, nor mentioning the intense kiss they just had at the sofa, but he could guess her intentions from the apparently innocent suggestion that they move to her room. He believed he knew exactly what she wanted, but now that they were actually at the room, she didn't do any advances. 

Women were so complicated. People were so complicated.

She pet the space next to her, wanting him to sit there. He didn't know why he obeyed. 

Tristana flopped on the bed, fell flat on her back, eyes closed and hands behind her head. Only the gods could guess what was going through her mind. She sighed and stretched lazily, and her bare midriff stretched too, giving him the absolute best view of her toned, flat abdomen. 

He shouldn't have been as interested as he was, especially without knowing whether or not this was a subtle move on her part. It woke the primal urge of biting her belly with his lips anyway. Luckily for him, though, years of boot camp and training on enduring psychological torture made him not flinch, move, or even show interest with his eyes. He didn't even fixate his gaze on the view. He just averted it entirely, suddenly very interested in the creases and marks of the wooden floor. 

"So," Teemo's ears adjusted themselves to follow the voice as a reflex. "Are we going back to kissing, or what?" 

He wished he didn't need another command. He wished he just sat up and over her, mashing their lips in an indecipherable mess. But he didn't do it. 

It was her who sat up, placed a supportive hand on his knee, and looked at him. That gaze wasn't corresponded. "I mean, unless you don't want to anymore." 

"You can't even guess how much I want to." He was just thinking out loud. Better let her know that she hadn't made a mistake, that he still desired her. Oh boy, how he did. The fire always woke when he least expected it. Sometimes the mere action of her rocket-jumping would send a shiver of excitement down his spine, impressed by the display of sheer badassery, and that same shiver would subtly shoot through his dick. There was no way in heaven or hell he would admit that to her face though. 

To his surprise, she laughed. She laughed, she grabbed his chin, she turned his face, she took the initiative, cutting the tension with a knife. Their lips touched and that same, familiar tinge of arousal washed all over him again, though he made a display of self-control by not showing the slightest hint of it. Gods, he'd waited for so long, and this wasn't even the first time he was close to having her. 

Memories flashed through his mind as she deepened the kiss, fluttering her tongue along his lip, asking for permission that he granted gently. There were many details he didn't remember. He didn't remember why they were on the same bed, in the first place, instead of her sleeping on the top bunk. He didn't remember how it all even started. Was it a confession of love that he'd forgotten, or was it just two lusty teenagers in boot camp quenching a thirst for contact? He didn't know. He only knew it happened one quiet night in the year of their second encounter, when they were assigned together as a team. Suddenly she was kissing him, and they were on the same bed, and he didn't even remember what it looked like — Most of the details that stuck with him were sensory, his area of specialty. 

The feeling of her tongue sloppily entering his mouth. The sensation of her teeth digging on his lower lip. The warmth of her legs straddling his hips. How it felt to roll her perky nipple with his thumb— 

He came back to reality with another wave of raw arousal. He knew he wouldn't have this much dominion of himself much longer. He was craving it bad, and they were no longer inexperienced teenagers on a bunk bed in boot camp. This was so much different. Even in her kisses she displayed her maturity.

Tristana bit his lip with her own and traced the line with her tongue, and he felt that familiar shiver. It began at the base of his neck and ravaged all his nervous system, down his back and straight to his crotch. 

God damn it. 

Her hands laid on his furry chest, and she gently pushed him down on the bed. She cut the kiss short, breathing heavily. Teemo could tell, they both knew it. His senses were exceptional and at this point he must have inferred it not only from her breathing, but also from a subtle scent emerging from between her legs. 

Gods. He'd felt that scent before. He closed his eyes, enjoying its salty subtlety, his mind conjuring up mental images again. 

Well, not exactly images per se, but certainly sensations. 

The desperate need for release. The shivering of her muscles as his inexperienced fingers worked their magic, gently exploring an unfamiliar cavity, the warmth, the wetness clinging to his fingertips. Her breath in his ears, breaking with pleasure. She couldn't know any better, she only had the feeling of her own hands to compare. 

He exhaled and returned to reality. 

"Are you okay?" Tristana looked slightly concerned. "We don't have to do anything if you really don't want to—" 

He nodded. Furiously. She giggled. "Well, we're eager." 

She shifted positions, straddling him with her legs, sitting on top of him. Hands, much less clumsy than years ago, travelled through his chest, then up to his face, where a thumb caressed his lower lip. 

She sat down, and she felt it. The warmth and the hardness. She bit her lower lip, delighted with this result, blood rushed to Teemo's face as the awareness that she could feel his need against her butt hit him. 

There was something insanely arousing about her teeth biting on that plush, thin lip, and she giggled as she felt it twitch with need against her. 

She went back to kissing. She placed her hands to each side of his head, showing a dominance that he hadn't known in her before. She —had— matured, and she —had— become fully aware of her charms. Their lips entwined once more, sloppily. She didn't ask permission this time, ravaging his mouth with her curious tongue. 

Her hips rocked, oh so very slightly, and the first hint of a moan vibrated in their mouths. He was sure this was some sort of wet fantasy, and he'd wake up at any minute in a cold sweat and a tent in the bedsheets, like it'd happened to him countless times before. 

The sensation, however, gave him a reality check. The kiss deepened and she rolled her hips again lazily, shooting a jolt of pleasure up Teemo's body. He felt her breath hit his face as she suppressed a squeal of need. Gods, how much he'd dreamed of this exact moment. 

Her golden eyes, closed in the most divine expression of arousal, fluttered open, and the sight that welcomed her filled her with confidence: Teemo was gripping the bedsheets with one hand, blue eyes closed, breath hitched, his face red as a tomato. Tristana, too, closed her grip on the sheets, and placing a peck on his lips, moved again, breaking her excruciating slowness to gain speed, but only barely grinding their sexes together. 

His hands shot to her hips, pushing her in a desperate attempt to gain more friction, but she did not budge. They gripped on the hem of her pants; he hissed through gritted teeth, trying to hide his obvious pleasure. She, however, could feel his dick twitch under her ministrations, almost as if the sex itself was begging for her attention, and her own crotch was already beginning to complain, asking for more with every twitch. 

Teemo's teeth were so tight that it seemed they could break under their own pressure. His hands dug into her hips. Gods, all of her, it was so soft, so warm, so inviting. All he wanted was to pin her to the bed and ravage her until he got the release he'd wanted for years. He knew, however, that this could not be rushed. 

His hands began to wander from her hips, fingertips grazing her soft thighs, just barely, through her pants; then grabbing her bare waist, then exploring her back. One of them ventured to her butt, giving a firm squeeze. She hissed, subconsciously grinding harder on him, and he welcomed the new friction like a blessing. It was him who connected their lips again, she stifled a moan against them, closing those big, golden eyes to lose herself further in the sensation. 

She stopped, and she felt Teemo writhe in frustration. 

She rose from her position, released him from the grip of her legs, and sat next to him. She stopped so suddenly that Teemo's dick complained, suddenly deprived of the heavenly dry humping, and he just stared at her, puzzled. He swallowed, though his throat was dry. "Trist?" 

"Do you remember that night?" She asked, and her velvety voice shot another wave of need straight at his cock. He quickly stifled the urge. 

"That night, at the bunk bed?" He asked, just confirming their thoughts were on the same wavelength. 

She nodded. "That one." 

He didn't say anything, giving her a free pass to continue. 

"No one had ever touched me that way before that night, Teemo," she mumbled, her face flushing further. "I remembered that night for years. When we separated at the ceremony and I saw you for the last time, something in me wished we'd done it once more." 

He swallowed again. So she did feel the same way, then. "Really?" He could not believe it. Now he was sure this was some sort of twisted fantasy.  

Her ears poked down and she placed her hands atop her knees. "Sometimes, when I was alone at night, I remembered your fingers... And... Yeah." She bit her lower lip, making obvious that the memories still brought her arousal. "But there was one thing that always bothered me about it." 

He shivered, and it wasn't the urge to fuck this time. His mind quickly skimmed through all the sensations he remembered, trying to find the flaw. The mere thought of having failed at pleasing her made him deflate. It was obvious he'd fail at it, considering his lack of experience, but—

"I never got to touch you." 

He blinked and blood rushed to his cheeks so fast it made him dizzy. There she was, solemn in her fierce beauty, and she was admitting she wished she'd jacked him off. 

It was like everything he ever dreamed. 

Her expression shifted quickly from shyness to a meek smile, ears perking up again. Her thumb found his lips again, and he planted a kiss on it, which widened her smile. "I thought maybe, if we met each other again, I could fix that." 

Her finger left his mouth, and he sighed, partially from relief and partially because his groin was complaining severely. "Tristana, you're killing me." 

Her hand traced down to his chin, then the reddish fur on his neck, down to his chest and belly, teasing with the tips of her fingers, and it finally landed on the tent in his pants. She palmed it softly, squeezing her fingers around the shaft as much as she could around the thick fabric, and he instinctively humped, which drew another giggle. "Shit," he hissed. 

She didn't reply. 

Her slim fingers, curled around his sex, pumped ever so slightly, and his blue eyes shut tight in delight. She needed no more signals: her hands fidgeted with the belt, then the button, then the zipper. She slid it down carefully, and was greeted with the delightful sight of Teemo's tight grey boxers, a damp spot already on the tip. 

He opened his eyes and found hers full of marvel and curiosity. They shot from his eyes to his sex and back, almost as if waiting for approval, and he nodded, pulling another smirk out of her. Her fingertips teased the shaft, slowly and lazily, and he inhaled sharply, stifling a moan. She was really enjoying herself, much to his chagrin. Thumb and index gripped the tip, caressing it, and he sighed, eyes fluttering, hands, once again, clutching the bedsheets. 

The palm of her hand slid along his length, unknowingly sliding the sensitive skin, exposing the tip under the fabric, and he bit his lower lip. He didn't want to rush it, but god damn this felt amazing and he needed more immediately. His mind conjured an old image, an old fantasy; that of her hand softly pumping his dick, bringing him nearly to the edge but not quite, on that fateful night; and the prospect of it happening in real life was almost too much for him. 

Her fingers wrapped around the width, she licked her lips. She pumped her hand softly one, two times, testing the waters, and the waters approved, the ears of the waters twitching, a moan finally escaping his mouth. She needed no further signal to begin moving her hand, up and down, gripping on his manhood delicately. She could feel the skin slide under the fabric, the damp spot on his underwear grew a little darker. He opened his eyes to the sight of the purest, most delighted smile, golden eyes half-closed as she lazily slid her hand around his sex, clearly enjoying this as much as he did. And that, quite possibly, was what had him so close to the edge. "Trist, holy fuck." 

She hushed him. "Silence, I haven't even started."

Her hands slid to the hem of his boxers and, once more, she sought approval. A single nod and she pulled them down, and there it was. Her beautiful eyes widened, taking the sight in; he was rock hard, and the tip was reddened with arousal, a bead of pre crowning it triumphantly. Her thumb instinctively found its way to said bead— spreading it like lube around all his tip, and he moaned— he straight up moaned, his toes curling inside the boots, head tilting back in pleasure. 

His dick twitched and Tristana giggled. "Someone's eager." 

He didn't confirm it, but then again, he didn't deny it. Tristana noted he was uncut, like it was the answer to some question she'd wondered for a really long time. She'd never seen it until now, anyway. 

Once more, her hand slid around his member, and she rocked it ruthlessly, twisting her wrist sometimes to add spice to the whole thing. The sight of his tip appearing and disappearing beneath the skin washed her with need. The moans were like music to her ears, music that she'd wanted to draw for so long. 

Teemo was in cloud nine. He supported himself on his elbows, trying his best not to close his eyes, taking in the delicious image of her hand finally, —finally— pleasing him, shivers jolting down his spine every time she spun her wrist. He noticed himself dripping from her gentle ministrations, and every time pre cum as much as poked, she dragged it along his tip, lubricating him. Gods, it felt so good, he was on edge, and away from the edge, all at the same time. His whole body writhed from pleasure, his toes curling and uncurling, hands grabbing and releasing the sheets. Her palm was soft and warm, her fingers coated in his pre. It was way better than his hand could ever hope to be, certainly warmer and more inviting, and she'd matured so much, it was like she knew exactly what she had to do to keep him on the tips of his toes. It was fucking incredible. His thoughts melted, his mind unable to remember anything, to —focus— on anything that wasn't that precious hand around his cock, and he humped against her, moaning. 

She leaned on her own elbow, never stopping, and her plush lips found his cheek, then his lips, then his neck. She sucked and smooched the red fur, and the combined stimulation was —almost— too much, and simultaneously not enough. His voice had melted into moans and vague hisses of her name. 

She released his sex and his neck, and shifted positions, pulling his pants and boxers further down, sitting next to him, spreading his legs and making herself comfortable, the tip of her index lazily tracing the length one last time. A droplet of pre emerged from his slit, and she smiled, looking straight into his eyes. She slowly leaned down, and the fine tip of her tongue poked out, licking the drop of pre and spreading it through all his head; Tristana rejoicing in the salty taste. Her eyes closed as her tongue traced the head— the crown, the small slit, the frenulum— and he held back a scream.

Only the gods knew how many times he'd fantasized about that warm, wet mouth around him, his own hand desperately trying to imitate the feeling, never quite achieving it, and always ending in an unsatisfactory release. Never did he expect her to be so careful and meticulous about it though. The sensation was otherworldly. He wished he could just pull her head down and end the torture. 

Her mouth finally opened, welcoming the swollen tip in, and she focused entirely on rediscovering every ridge, every bump of a vein, every fold of skin around the crown. He didn't wait to moan, grabbed her head with one hand, nearly pulling on her pale hair. She took this as a signal and slowly, tortuously pushed her head down, taking him about a third in. She still had her gag reflex, much to her own chagrin, and he was bigger than she expected. She revered the salt filling her taste buds and the musky scent of saliva and sex invading her nose. It was a powerful, manly smell; an indicative of who he truly was, regardless of his cute appearance or his size. A lengthy moan and a twitch of his cock, followed by yet another wave of salt, indicated that she was doing well. 

The hand on her hair grabbed tighter. She slowly pulled up, freeing him from the prison of her mouth. A thread of mixed saliva and pre hung from her mouth, and yet another jolt of his dick told her he had probably been watching the whole thing. She aided herself with her hand, pulling the soft skin down, revealing the head and the frenulum, and swallowing the salt, she leaned down once again, taking the exposed head in, circling it with her experienced tongue. 

He could never guess where she had learned it. They were adults, after all; there must have been plenty of yordles she had blown, but her expression was so genuinely passionate it made the whole experience heavenly. A swirl of thoughts, memories, and fantasies crossed his mind, and it melted into a puddle as soon as her head started bobbing, tongue tracing shapes around his shaft. There was just nothing else he could concentrate in. His legs instinctively jolted up, and his entire body contracted in pleasure. 

She licked from base to tip, then trailed the entire length with kisses, and he put a finger to his mouth and bit it, trying to make less obvious that this was slowly killing him in the best way possible. At times the mere sensation of her hot breath along his manhood was enough to stimulate him. The arm that supported him was trembling and his knees were weak. He'd rarely felt this vulnerable. The sight was alluring, fascinating, and felt so — _natural_ —, so — _right_ —, like fate wanted them to do this all along. 

She pulled him out of her mouth with one last, wet pop, and planted a final kiss on the crown. Once again he was puzzled, but she was quick to answer, getting rid of her military vest. 

It was there that he saw his chance. "Wait!" He said, just as she was about to pull her top up. 

It was her turn to be confused. "Hmm?" 

"...Let me do it?" 

He posed it as a question, allowing her to say no, were she not interested. But her eyes closed halfway, and once more she changed positions, lying on the bed, showing herself submissively. "Well, what are you waiting for?" 

He needed no more commands. His mind swirled with memories once more, though, if he remembered correctly, even while he touched her, her body was still covered by the heavy wool blankets of the military. 

He'd fingered her, and yet he had not seen her naked. Oh, he was in for such a treat. 

He propped himself on top of her, planting a small smooch on her lips, that she corresponded poking out her tongue, and for a split second, he felt the familiar taste of himself. There was something beyond simple eroticism about tasting himself off her mouth, though. It felt natural and correct, the taste of her tongue and his pre mingling flawlessly.

He split the kiss almost painfully, and moved to her ears, nibbling on the lobe. Tristana gasped and he knew he'd done right. It was about time he renewed all the old memories, all the forgotten sensations. 

He slowly nibbled his way down, peppering her ear, her jaw, her neck with kisses; he sought a sensitive spot there and, as soon as she tensed, he sucked on it, eliciting a repressed moan. He owed it to her, after all she'd done for him. He went up again, smooching her eyelids, her cheeks, getting one last taste of his flavor from her mouth. 

His hands wandered again, feeling up her tummy, her waist, her hips, tracing her shapes with his fingertips. Nails dug on the hem of her top, fingers slowly dragged down the space between her small, firm breasts; thumbs seeking to find a trace of nipple, though the fabric was too thick to properly let him do it. 

She whispered his name, and he knew what it meant; and chose to comply. In perfect synchrony, she arched her back as he pulled the top upwards. 

It filled him with delight to find out that, all this time, she went commando up there. His blue eyes found a pair of painfully small, pointy breasts, slightly darker nipples already erect from arousal, her areolae as tiny as her cups. The feeling of those nipples hardening under his fingers crossed his brain, a vague memory of that night, and his cock twitched in expectation. 

She snapped him out of his fantasy. "Are you just going to look at them?" 

He did not answer; instead, he planted a soft kiss between them, enjoying her scent, not disguised by any gross perfume, just the smell of her sweat and her lightly furred skin, and his indexes and thumbs immediately went to work, rolling each nipple with one hand while he traced his tongue up to Tristana's neck. The breathy moan of his name that he got in return was almost as stimulating as if she'd touched him directly. Gods, he'd missed this so much and he hadn't even realised it.

His hands squeezed the breasts while his mouth worked her neck, and he was absolutely mesmerised with the changes he could perceive. Although still tiny and pointy, her boobs were definitely fuller, or so they felt to the touch, and her nips were also softer, bigger than the last time he'd got a taste of one. He couldn't hold back a moan, a shiver of expectation shooting straight to his groin as he thought of finally fucking her, years of expectation flourishing under his skin. 

There was one thing he didn't do back then, though. 

His mouth split from her neck and trailed down the spot between her mounds, and without warning, he took a nipple in his mouth, now rolling it with his tongue, sometimes peppering the rest of the breast with thirsty pecks. She squealed, weak under his touch, and he repeated the process with the other nipple, carefully archiving the sensory input in his memory. Gods, he needed to jerk off so bad right now, but he withheld, focusing all his attention on her pleasure, the same way she'd done. He'd already survived this torture once, what made him weaker now? 

He lifted his head, and she dug her hand in his hair, beneath the ridge of the hat, caressing his face with her other hand. They kissed again, and the hand holding his head shot down to jack him off, but he didn't allow it, pulling her away even though his groin felt sore from the need. "Trist." 

She giggled. She actually thought she could get away with that! "I'm sorry," she said, pecking his lips once more. 

He sat up, taking in the beautiful view for a second—the pointy breasts, her chest, pink from the copious sex flush, the dip of her waist and the curve of her hips—and his hands traced her tummy. She arched her back, those golden eyes fluttering with expectation. 

His hands quickly undid the button of her pants, unzipped them, and dipped beneath, feeling up her slit above the fabric of her panties. He'd definitely missed it so much. He could feel up the labia majora, split from arousal, and the wetness between. He needed to fuck her so bad right now. The mere thought of his manhood inside the wet cave made him shiver, his patience being put to the test. 

A high-pitched "Teemo!" Pulled him out of his fantasies, and she lifted her butt so he could pull her baggy pants down, his eyes now fixated on Tristana's white boxers and the luscious thighs below. The dampness was painfully noticeable in the light fabric. He bit his lip. 

His hands played with the edge of her panties, and the right one, adventurous as ever, betrayed the wall of fabric. His fingers marvelled in the delicious familiarity of her mons pubis, covered in curls. The hair was thicker than when he'd last touched it. His whole body trembled, his eyes craving the sight. Nervous index and ring fingers spread the lips open, and a middle finger fidgeted until it found a hard nub. 

Tristana moaned, a lengthy, needy moan, pretty much the sexiest thing he'd ever heard, communicating how much she'd been craving it, and Teemo's middle finger gently rubbed the wet, hard nub, making her whole body shake. It was impressive how such a small spot could elicit such a wave of passion. He circled the tiny, swollen clitoris, his speed growing every few seconds, and his eyes rejoiced when she arched her back, her breasts bouncing for a split second. He didn't know how he could live without it. 

His middle finger traced the length of her slit, lubricated with her fluids, and found the tight, wet entrance. The tip of his finger went inside, and she hissed, squeezing her eyes shut, toes curling. "Dammit, Teemo..." 

Sweet, sweet revenge. 

He smirked almost devilishly as he teased her clit again, caressing it up and down. She pouted her lips in the most precious expression of pleasure he'd ever seen, and he took the chance to kiss her, his fingers picking up speed, his nose filled with the musk of her arousal, just like that one time... 

He couldn't resist it. His finger found her entrance and slowly slid inside, all the way up to the knuckle, and she writhed, smiling. 

"You know, that's not enough to fill me up anymore," she said. 

Her eyes darted to his dick; and she smiled when she saw it jump with eagerness. It reminded him of that beautiful betrayal of her purity, when his fingers first filled that virginal entrance, tainting it forever with their mark. 

Gods how bad he needed to fuck her. 

He pushed the finger in and out a couple times, watching her every move; the curling of her toes and the motions of her muscles under the skin as she trembled; and soon enough a second finger joined in, stretching her walls. She smiled the most charming of smiles, and he corresponded, curving his fingers inside her, looking for the inner nub. Back in that night, he didn't know of the existence of that place. But they'd both gained knowledge, and he sure as hell would exploit all that he'd learned. 

His fingers felt a hard, corrugated spot, and she yelped, spreading her legs even further, pushing down on the delicious sensation. "Oh, fuck!" 

It was his turn to laugh, triumphantly pushing that place with the tips of both fingers, and she humped with a moan, a squeaky, broken 'Teemo'. She grit her teeth, her face contracting in an expression of absolute bliss, and he massaged the G spot softly, drawing a couple of light-hearted cries. He started pumping his hand, in and out, like he'd done at boot camp, except his curved fingers hit that place over and over, and she pulled him in for a passionate kiss, rocking her hips so he'd better pleasure it. He did his best to remember this feeling as well— the feeling of her tight walls squeezing his fingers— and oh gods, just like everything else, it'd gotten so much better. 

It was him who broke the kiss, pulling her lower lip with his own, and he skipped the trailing this time, spreading her legs and finally taking the boxers out in one swift motion.

The sight was unbelievable. Her entrance dripped her fluids, eager and tight. Her clitoris was hot pink and swollen, and the entirety of her slit, even her lips, glistened with her delicious arousal. The scent was almost overwhelming; he'd never felt it from so up close. He must have died and entered paradise. It looked like a spread, shining flower. And Gods, the mons pubis, plentiful with white curls, like her pussy was some sort of hidden treasure. It was the hottest thing he'd ever seen.

Much like she had done before, he looked for approval and found it in her subtly arching and arranging her body to give him better access. 

Trembling fingers spread the labia open, and he carefully poked his tongue out, getting a first taste of her clit. It was salty and caustic, but the strong taste did nothing to deter him. His tongue traced the slit in its entirety, from base to top, teasing the entrance, and he revered the shiver he elicited, the groan his ears caught. He hesitated no longer— he traced quick circles on her clit, rejoicing as her breaths became more and more erratic...

...His mouth split from his prize just long enough to see the wave of fluid drip from her entrance. 

Another successful mission.

"Stop," she pleaded, just as he was leaning in again. She realised she'd never even taken off his hat, but her trail of thought rejoined when she noticed his look of confusion. 

"You're gonna... You're gonna make me come if you keep doing that." 

She figured she better be straightforward about it. "And I kind of want to..." 

He was playing with the curls of her mons pubis now, which tickled. She stifled a giggle. "You know what I want."

He nodded, sitting up. They looked so ridiculous, both pairs of pants ruffled around their legs and his hat misaligned amidst the flurry of passion. 

"So," he said, breathing heavily. He knew what came next. His heart was pounding with expectation. "How do you want to..."

She smiled, a smile too pure for the situation they were in. "You lay down and let me do the rest." 

He was nobody to say no. He made himself comfortable on the bed, putting a few pillows behind his back, and he just waited for it, though he felt he almost couldn't.

Tristana straddled him, and damn, he enjoyed the view; her naked, toned, sweaty body, her perky breasts, her slick womanhood, the generous bush atop it, her flat abs, her strong arms, her beautiful legs. 

She closed her eyes, and Teemo felt it. 

It was slick, warm, and intimate against his dick. He gasped, eyes shutting, whole body melting in her grip as she ground herself, now bare, against his manhood. It was better than her hand, better than her mouth, better than his imagination. His ears twitched, reached by a soft, feminine grunt, and his arms surrounded her back; he sat up, hugging her, placing his head in the crook of her neck, humping erratically against her womanhood. 

The tip of his sex grazed her entrance, slid against it, and both moaned simultaneously. 

"Fuck. I need you," she grunted in his ear, reciprocating the hug.

He was speechless for an instant, and his reply was automatic. "I've needed you for years now." 

His eyes darted down, and the sight of his own sex, slick in the fluid of his lover, made his head feel faint. 

"It's time." 

She accomodated herself, grabbing his sex with her right hand, spreading her legs and guiding the tip to her entrance. Teemo didn't miss a second of it, blue eyes fixated on her actions, a splinter of him still thinking he could wake up at any minute. 

But he didn't. She pushed down onto him gently, and he could finally feel his dick breach the entrance and fill the velvety walls. 

He squeezed her so tight she was actually surprised. A hand pushed her hips down even further, until she took his sex all the way to the hilt, and a grunt made her ears adjust. It was a grunt of such legitimate pleasure her walls instinctively contacted in desire, drawing a second gasp. 

"Oh, gods, Tristana!" 

The second grunt was muffled, him pushing his mouth against her chest. "Oh my fucking— Trist!" 

She sighed in relief as she felt him enter her, and he placed his hands on her thighs, eyes half-lidded, feeling like they could fuse into one. Softly, she began rocking her hips, slow and steady at first; rolling her pelvis just enough to guide him in and out. And Gods, it felt so fucking good, so much better than he'd ever fantasized. Her belly and legs were warm around him and her walls felt like the finest velvet, soft and slick with her love. Her breath brushed against his ears and neck, hot and erratic, and her pace was just perfect to keep him pushed to the edge. His whole body contracted in pleasure, hands holding her in place, mind destroyed into a puddle of bliss as he heard her cry his name in the prettiest of all possible tones of arousal. 

He didn't even know when he started rocking too. He was just suddenly doing it, moving his hips according to her pace, blurting out compliments and moans, lost in his desire. Their bodies split, gentle hands pushing him back in the bed, and he was hit with the most perfect image, that of her head tilted back, breasts bouncing lightly, hair messy, thighs around his hips, her whole body spasming as she rode him. She could never be any more beautiful. This. This was exactly what he'd needed for years, and Gods, he thanked her gained experience, the accentuation of her curves with age. It had been worth every second, every night of fantasies, every failed attempt at easing his mind. 

He sat up to kiss between her mounds and to please the nipples, not wanting to miss one chance. His mouth and hands were curious—one second he was on her neck, the next, her airy cries were swallowed by his mouth; one moment his hand gripped her creamy thighs, the next he grabbed her waist, wanting to give her support. 

It was her who closed his arms around her waist, leaning her head down as he looked up in elegant sync, meshing their lips together as she kept humping. They were so unbelievably close, and he felt like his mouth, dick and mind could just melt into her, be wrapped by her caresses like a blanket. This didn't stop their moaning— the air was still heavy with nasal breathing, the creaking of Tristana's wooden bed, and the characteristic scent of sex. It was a sensory experience to never be forgotten. She was the one who lightly pecked his ears, now, causing them to jolt and adjust amidst a tickle, and her hands gracelessly got him rid of that stupid scout helmet, fingers finally entwining with the longer, thicker fur of his head. A hand clutched it, pulling on it slightly, and he thanked the stimulating tug. Her other hand grabbed his chin, and she guided him into yet another kiss, a longer, deeper, slower one.

Their heads split so suddenly that he barely had time to process it. Her moves became less rhytmic, and her walls squeezed his dick deliciously, enveloping even tighter than before. He'd understood enough about this to know what he had to do, and as an airy, acute "Teemo" ravaged his ears, he wet the tip of a middle finger with his tongue and sought the small nub above her entrance. 

She shivered, whole body giving in, hips falling and taking him all the way in, his finger tracing her clit in slow, gentle circles, and she begged he pick up speed, help her drag out the imminent, incoming orgasm. "Oh gods, faster, please!" 

He had no reason to say no. The circles became smaller and tighter, his hand alternating between circling and rubbing it up and down, and her nails dug on his back, legs enveloping his hips as if she was afraid he wouldn't let her ride out her climax. Her pumping lost rhythm further, becoming more and more erratic, her pushing him in deep, just so the crown could massage her G spot. 

A broken, sexual groan filled his ears, and she pulled on his hair as an orgasmic wave exploded from her crotch and filled her whole being. He felt the wave of new fluid dripping down his cock, the walls rhythmically squeezing him, her whole body falling weak atop him, but, much to her surprise, she felt no jet of cum inside her. 

She breathed, rejoicing in her still expanded walls, another occasional jolt making them tight around his shaft. "Teemo, I—" 

She opened her eyes, which had shut tight as she rode out her orgasm, and noticed something: he was fiercely clutching the bedsheets, knuckles white in self control as he withheld his own, teeth grit in concentration. 

She pulled out and observed him, still needy and rock hard. "Why did you do that?" She asked quizically, observing his manhood twitch, a really thick drop of pre-cum emerging from the tip and sliding down the crown. 

"I—" he tried to justify himself, breathing. "It was just—" 

He gulped, regaining his breath. "I'd wanted it for so long. I didn't want it to end just yet..." 

She giggled. She knew enough about her own anatomy to offer what she was about to do. "You just needed a round two, didn't you, you horny scout?" 

His face, already red with sex flush, heated even further. 

She crawled on the bed, pants and panties pooling around one of her legs, and she laid on her back. For a second he thought he was doomed to using his hand yet again, and he cursed himself for not finishing with her. For a strategist he sure was dumb as hell—

She stretched once again, relaxed, offering him the view of her muscles rippling, and her golden eyes turned to him. They fluttered, then closed; her hands began to wander around her own familiar territory as Teemo observed, tracing her own breasts, gently twisting a nipple, the fingers of her other hand teasing the jungle of curls of her mons pubis. "So," she said, eyes still closed. "You're gonna come here or what?" 

He needed no further instruction. She gently spread her legs and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up with anticipation as he saw the pink flower once more, hidden among the sea of white curls, glistening and spread. He shuffled to arrange himself between her legs, his right hand guiding the head to her entrance. Tristana was teasing her own still swollen clitoris and the view of himself about to enter her made his dick twitch just as he slid in, making her shiver in return. 

They both let out a hearty moan as he filled her, the now familiar sensation of that canal of velvet enveloping him. He stood still for a second, like he was trying to convince himself this was real, and she responded with the most amazing expression— He could not hold back any longer. 

He supported himself on his elbows, wishing to get a better look of that face, and picked up his rhythm, thrusting. His thrusts, much like every one of his actions in battle, were fast and light. He spiced it up by mixing paces, sometimes pushing deeper so her spot could be massaged by the head of his cock. It took an impressive deal of self-control not to be erratic, an actual effort of concentration. 

Tristana wrapped her legs around him, pushing their sexes closer, and he shuffled his posture slightly, supporting his weight on his hands as if he was about to do a push-up. Tristana noticed the tension of his muscles as he did so, and gods, she'd forgotten how toned he was from all the military training. It was so hot. 

Slowly, but surely, she began to hump again, spreading her own lips with her hand, her other hand pushing him into a kiss. She didn't close her eyes this time, and gold met blue as their mouths danced, eyes occasionally fluttering amidst the waves of passion. Teemo felt his dick beg, warn him of an oncoming orgasm. He shut it up by pushing it deeper, rejoicing in the sensation of her G spot against the head, the stimulation each crease of her walls was giving his shaft.  He tilted his head back, eyes staring at the ceiling, and she took her chance to once again kiss the red fur around his neck, her free hand messing with the tuft of thicker fur on his chest. 

He bit his lip, head leaning back down, and he stared at the way their two sexes conjoined. Seeing his own dick emerging and disappearing again in such beautiful flower brought a second orgasm warning, and luckily for him, she seemed to be close too, walls pressuring his shaft, the hand that spread her lips gently massaging her clit. 

"Let me do that," he moaned, and she agreed, allowing him to sit up in a more comfortable position; he guided her hand away, replacing it with his own wet thumb, and he kept pushing, having a much, much cleaner view of his cock entering and exiting. 

Third warning of the oncoming release. 

He guided her legs, lifting her calves so they rested on his shoulders. Her back arched, her own body already close to a second release, and it seemed this time the pressure came from the inside, for he could feel the hard nub inside her expand under the stimulation of his sex. She was coming for real this time, and the thought was so hot he felt a fourth warning surge, shooting from tip to base. 

His pounding grew fierce, fast and deep, and he finally saw the advantages of all those resistance exercises outside of battle. He kept up the strong, speedy pace; her moans intensified, picking up in pitch to indicate her oncoming climax. "Oh gods! Teemo, I'm so close!" 

"I know," he grunted, a tinge of pride leaking onto the statement. "Come for me, Tristana." 

"Teemo!" She shrieked, mumbling nonsense and grunting. "Teemo, fuck, I'm coming!" 

That was all it took to push her over the edge. The swollen G spot pulsed against his head, and a wave of her natural lubricant washed down his dick as her walls contracted. 

It was simply too much. "Trist, I'm coming!" 

And so he did. A guttural grunt emerged from his throat as an orgasmic wave shook his whole body. One, two, three twitches; one, two, three jets of his hot seed erupting from the swollen head, warming up her walls. His knees went weak, and he pushed inside her one final time, rejoicing on each spasm of her canal, and he finally fell atop her with their final pulses, breathing heavily, washed by wave after wave of carnal pleasure. 

He sought her lips one last time, and she happily agreed to the contact, humping softly onto his softening, oversensitive cock, drawing a hiss. He pulled out, broke the kiss and looked at what he'd done: Her entrance was leaking his cum, it slid down her perineum and lost itself in the crease of her buttocks. He could have licked it off her, if he wasn't so exhausted. This view right here had been worth every second of wait. 

Tristana wrapped her arms around him, enjoying the weight atop her, and her fingers massaged his scalp, entwining themselves in his hair. She leaned into the crook of his neck, placing a couple of stray kisses there; his fur was messy and damp with sweat, and both of them could really use a bath. She clenched her canal, feeling the warm cum overflowing out of her. She'd have to ask Lulu about that contraceptive herb potion tomorrow. 

She leaned back on the bed and found his blue eyes, beautiful as ever, staring at every inch of her, like he couldn't believe what just happened. 

"I think I need a shower," she muttered, immediately yawning in exhaustion. "You left a bit of a mess down there." 

He flushed in embarrassment, and she giggled. "Don't worry. I don't mind it." Her hand curled the tuft of fur between his pecs. "You're a bit of a mess too, you might want to clean yourself up." 

"You're right," he answered, and his voice sounded just about as tired as it should have, oddly low and raspy. He couldn't admit that he didn't want to move, that he'd been as eager for the post-coital bliss as he was for the sex itself. "Do you want to go first?" 

"Nah," she said, laid-back as ever. "You go first. There's a couple of towels in the closet. I think you need the shower more than I do. Plus," she puckered her lips. "I need a minute to rest." Her eyelids closed suggestively. "That was some really good 'gasm you made me ride out." 

She instinctively contracted her pussy and another drop of cum slid out, staining the bed sheets. He flushed again and smiled, not his usual smile, but one of pride and satisfaction. "So, better than that night? Worth the wait?" 

She smirked, smug. "You have no idea, my little scout." 

His chest swelled with pride, and he let out a heavy sigh. He stood on his knees and she subtly enjoyed the view of his body, strong with years and years of exercise and missions, yet somehow still soft to the touch; a small tummy poking out, his structure thick with practical strength, even the sight of his half-hard, fluid-coated sex, a final drip of cum falling on the bedsheets. He was hot. Perhaps not in the classic yordle way, but he was. And those eyes...

"Okay, seriously now, I'll shower." 

He stood up and removed his pants and boots— what a shame he hadn't been truly naked in the heat of the moment— and pulled a white towel from her closet, wrapping it around his hips. He knew perfectly that was painfully unnecessary after what just happened, but still felt the urge to do it out of basic decency. 

"Wait," she said with a sigh. He turned to face her, she was removing her own half-assedly taken off clothes from her legs, and she fell on her side, princess-like and gentle, and the sight of her naked body, laying on its side, the curve of her hips accentuated by her position, would have been enough for another wave of arousal if he hadn't just come. 

"Tell me," he answered, blunt as ever. 

"Was that good for you too?" 

Her expression was so innocent and genuine it shot straight to his heart. Her ears were perked, aiding her look of interest.

"You can't even guess how much I waited for that," he said with a half-nervous, half-lighthearted giggle, his ears pointing down and back in embarrassment. "It was all I'd wanted, Trist." 

Her eyes softened and she propped herself face-down, exposing her precious, perky butt. "I'm glad." 

 

* * *

 

 

They'd showered and she'd laid on his chest, naked, begging for him not to go to the guest room. So what if her parents found out she'd had sex with the same boy she'd met and gushed over in three separate occasions? If anything, with how much heartache he'd brought her before, they should be glad. She'd said something along those lines to get him to stay, at least. 

His chest heaved. Both couldn't sleep yet, but also weren't ready for round two. They'd finished in the early night, eaten something, and quickly undressed and flopped on the bed again. There was something intimate and a certain closure from feeling his naked body and observing all the little details and scars. 

Her fingers fiddled with his red fur scarf, then traced down to the tuft of hair in his chest. 

"Something wrong?" He said, and his voice sounded deeper than usual. 

She was lying atop one of his pecs, near the crook of his neck, one of her legs sprawled across his belly. "No, I was just thinking." 

She shivered when his palm caressed her back. She didn't seem her usual quirky self. 

"Well, fill me in." 

She sighed and buried her face in the fur of his neck. "What did this mean? Like, for you? For us?" 

He gulped and she could perceive him tense up in nervousness, which only brought her further disappointment. There was no answer. 

"A week after that night, when we nearly lost the medal. Remember? You asked me about that night, and I was about to tell you—" 

"—you nearly said you loved me. I remember." 

"And you said you didn't want to hear it, because you did, too."  She sighed. He suddenly seemed fake under her touch, even though she knew he was the real thing. Pain shot like an arrow through her chest. "But then, when we won the medal, you just left me alone. You didn't look for me after that day. You didn't visit, you didn't send letters, you didn'even call me, even though that night..." 

"Trist," he interrupted, lifting her chin with his index and thumb. "I'm sorry." 

His eyes opened and she was hit with the same fascinating, mesmerising blue that always pulled her. Even in the darkness they seemed to sparkle with a magical light unique to them. She was washed with a wave of calm. 

"I was just wondering why. Why you faded away from my life that way if we had been the best of friends. Why you appeared suddenly in my life again and what we just did—" her voice broke. 

"I'm so sorry. I—" 

He tried to put his words in order and she waited patiently. 

"I guess I was trying not to feel it, because I felt weak. Vulnerable. I guess... I was trying really bad not to like you. There was my career as a Mothership Scout and maybe one of us could die someday and— I know it's stupid." A hand lifted to rub his face in discomfort. "It's so, so stupid." 

She held him tighter. "But you always end up appearing in my life again," she muttered, inhaling the smell of shampoo in his fur, like she was trying to convince herself all the events this afternoon had happened. "And now we just did this, and I need to know if you still... I mean, after all this time..." 

He didn't respond, and she took it as her cue. "...Because I still do. Even if I tried to date Rumble, even if I focused on my Bandle Gunner rep, I..." 

She closed her eyes, saying it through gritted teeth. "I like you. And by that I mean that I love you." She shook her head in disappointment. "And I never knew if you did, or do, or whatever." 

Her eyelids split open. Unbeknownst to her, his stomach had just contracted in an explosion of butterflies. His hand did hold her tighter, however. 

"I love you too," he whispered, right in her ear, and she almost believed she must have been hallucinating it, but she looked up and there were those eyes again, and for once she could sense them being full of feeling. She knew it was always hard for him to talk about his feelings, his inner voices and his disturbances. 

"R-really?" She muttered. "Even if you left? Even if you've been so lonely in combat? Even after all this time—" 

He smiled at her, and her heart dropped to the floor. "I do. So much, you make me silly." 

She just stared at him in utter disbelief, and he closed the distance, pulling her lips with his own. The kiss was fast and not too deep, but definitely eager. She surrounded his neck with her arms, pulling him closer, and she revered his touch, gentle on her hair and her back. 

They returned to their initial position. This time, however, everything felt right. 

"So what now?" She asked. "Are we something now?" 

He shrugged. "I guess you could say so." 

And that simple answer was enough to fill her with bliss. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well done! You made it to the end!
> 
> If you enjoyed the work, OR if you were traumatised by these furry midgets fucking (I know I was), leave a kudos and/or a review expressing your thoughts. 
> 
> I know there are a few flaws here and there, repetition of words and generally clumsy language, but I promise I did my best on it and I'm open to listen to suggestions to improve my writing in the future. 
> 
> Thank you for reading this beast of a fanfic. Your eyes must be tired. I'll let you rest now.


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